


If regret was a capital sin

by Lanford



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Coercion, Developing Relationship, Don't read it expecting smut, F/M, Hair Kink, Intimidation, Love/Hate, Maybe safe if not for referenced violence, Power Dynamics, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanford/pseuds/Lanford
Summary: "...Show it to me."





	If regret was a capital sin

Tied to a table. For as long as I don't even know.

There's no windows here. No way to know if it's day or night. Not even a clock, because the working wallclock got bumped by the nuke's shock and fell broke to the floor, such a secure bunker they forgot to secure their time...

I'm not wearing a watch. He's not wearing a watch either, on his arms just some bands and a handmade rosary.

He's not even wearing a shirt. For fuck's sake. I can't remember how he dressed up because it seems he adores to walk everywhere showing off his dirty bare chest.

So much for a "Father". Tainted not only at the outside, but at the inside too. His skin is wounded, scarred, carved and tattooed. His mind bears the terror he inflicted in so many people already, including his own daughter.

Now I was the only one left for him to terrorize.

So I might as well build up my strength to torment him back.

His stare have always felt so intimidating. I took most of my time admiring the ground's texture or the objects next to the walls. Even the ceiling felt more pleasant than looking at him.

He often grabbed my head with his both hands though. The one time I closed my eyes shut, he lightly pressed his thumbs against my eyelids -- flashes of the Seed family's torture methods flooded my mind as I opened my eyes, scared he would blind me. As long as I did look back at him, he would not hurt me.

Did he enjoy being a bother to me... the corners of his lips always curled up every time he kept invading my personal space, he would tell me about his holy lore forever, how we were the only ones left, how we had to prepare to rise and rebuild, how I've yet to understand I had to help him as much as he was trying to help me.

How could I ever help someone I hate?

I hate seeing his empty eyes. I hate falling asleep to his almost monotonic voice. I hate seeing his dirty skin. I hate how he just keeps such a power over me I need to ask _and_ be watched while I pee. I hate him so much I wish him dead every time -- I can't even think of _every day_ because I don't really know how many days have passed now.

\-------

...One time, I had an idea.

I felt like shattering his confident spirit. I felt like seeing his glare falter. I felt like being unpredictable for once.

...I noticed he never frees his hair.

It is always tied in a little bun over his nape. He lays down always on his side. Every once in long whiles, when some strands begin falling down, he excuses himself to the restroom in order to get his bun done pristine again.

I'm getting to his nerves this time. I'm sure I can.

Putting together all of my reckless courage, I look to him. He's messing with the radio, trying to pick any wave from outside, like he usually does, and as soon as he gives up, he notices I'm intensely staring at him, and walks up to me.

"What is it do you want from me, my child?" He says as he kneels in front of me and piercingly stares right inside my eyes.

"...Show it to me." I say bluntly, however, I fail the staring game once again, facing down to the floor, unable to resist his intimidating eyes.

He stays silent.

A few seconds later, I notice he raises a hand to the top hem of his pants, grabbing it like he was about to-- " **Your hair!** " I say hastily, looking up to his face again. "Show it to me, your hair down."

Only then I am able to see his reaction. His eyes were already wider than he usually opens them while staring at me -- I had successfully surprised him, yes!

Holding his breath, frozen, as he slowly realizes the innocent purpose of the request in contrast to whichever sinful thought crossed his mind, his face becomes tinted in a slight reddish tone.

Suddenly, he inhales through his mouth, as if his body signaled to him his heart was beating too fast to keep lacking air to the lungs. "...Is that it?" He asks in a rhetorical way, composing back his face. My private taste of victory over him have quickly bittered.

The same hand which once grabbed the pants now was brought to the back of his head. He pulls something to the top and it is unleashed free: Dark brown strands, falling to the sides of his face, giving it a new framing ever since he lost his yellow shades.

Perfection has been bestowed upon me.

For the first time since I had crash-landed at Hope County, I believed in miracles, for I swear I was seeing Jesus alive and knelt right in front of this miserably surviving Deputy.

If _regret_ was a capital sin, it sure would be carved across my forehead just now.

"Are you content now, my child?"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if there's any inconsistencies, I admit I never played a Far Cry game ever... I just had to put this "Joseph with his hair down" idea off my mind, I'm curious he would look stunningly beautiful then.


End file.
